


Luke Castellan faces the consequences of his actions and its kind of (extremely) depressing

by flitterseb



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, idk lukes dead and a sarcastic bitch so like what else is new
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-16
Updated: 2017-12-16
Packaged: 2019-02-13 23:38:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12995022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flitterseb/pseuds/flitterseb
Summary: Hades sends Luke to loiter around the world of the living as a ghost while he figures out what to do with him in the afterlife. Luke realizes some shit and repents.





	Luke Castellan faces the consequences of his actions and its kind of (extremely) depressing

Dying young was a lot of things to me.

Unexpected was not one of them.

But I’m an exception, in that case. Ever since I was 14, I've felt like I wouldn't live past 18- Fuck, maybe not even past 15. I also thought this was a common belief amongst demigods, even shared it with one of my siblings in jest. Isn't it funny how we're all doomed from the start, I chuckled, how all this training is useless cause there's no way we'll survive anyways, I laughed.  All I got was a worried look, and a hand on my shoulder asking me if I was okay.

Maybe it was my slowly debilitating mother, or all the monster attacks Annabeth, Thalia and I had suffered through, or losing Thalia and embracing Annabeth as she sobbed in my arms while I tried and failed to hold back tears myself, or the constant neglect from any god that wasn't Dionysus, or maybe it was the countless tales of demigods getting met with brutal, horrifying ends being drilled into my head since I set foot in camp, but most likely, it was probably all of it combined that made me feel like the end was near.

Anyway.

All I did was shrug the hand off and act like everything was fine. That's probably where I went wrong, honestly. I should've let them help me. Don't get me wrong, no matter what I changed about my past, the gods could still absolutely _stick it…_ But, I probably would have been a lot calmer and more diplomatic about expressing that if I had let all the people who wanted to help me past my walls. The truth is, I felt alone, and abandoned, and you know what? I absolutely was. But when I had the opportunity to change that, I didn't take it. I just kept wallowing in self pity, letting my distaste and hatred for the gods, _especially_ Hermes build up inside me and corrupt me. I hate to admit it, but I made it way too easy for Kronos to control me. By the time I was seriously ready to accept whatever his plan was, he probably didn't even need to smooth talk it up in my dreams as much as he did. Just could've been like, _hey, kid, wanna kill the gods and bring the downfall of the whole world?_ and I would've gladly leapt to his aid.

…

I'm glad they stopped me.

I'm glad the generation of demigods under me have a brighter outlook on this whole thing. Even if I still see all of it as pointless, I'm glad they don't. Hopefully the heroes who joined my side get some sense drilled into them. Me, though, I’m a depressing and stubborn prick, which is why I’m currently leaning against the wall of D.O.A. Records with my arms crossed, reminiscing about my tragic past. I’ve considered just staying here, because it’s probably better than whatever horrid afterlife is waiting for me down below, but I probably wouldn’t get away with that. I run my eyes over the crowd of lost souls within the establishment, then quickly redirect them to the floor at a scary thought. I don't want to recognize any of them. I sure as hell don't want any of them to recognize me. I let myself have one more sulky moment against the wall, then sigh as I push off from it, approaching the dark-skinned man in the italian suit behind the podium. Charon barely glances up at me from where he's leaned on the surface, then groans and rolls his eyes.

“Oh, great, ANOTHER godling, I thought you squirts might be bad at fighting but not _this_ horrible. NAME?”

I don't like the implication that I'm nowhere near the first demigod to be here recently. I mean, I already knew I wasn't going to be, but I didn't want to hear it said out loud. I swallow the lump in my throat, and answer stoically. “Luke Castellan.”

Charon freezes. Then, he stands up, and matches my cross-armed pose. He squints at me, gives me a proper up-and-down. “So you're the kid that's been giving us all this trouble, huh?”

“Well, I'm not a kid. But yes.”

Charon narrows his eyes even more and points a finger at me. “You're in _no_ position to get lippy with me, smart guy. I'm under special directions to take you directly to Lord Hades himself.”

Since I arrived at Dead On Arrival Records, my emotions have been dulled. Like they haven't been coming from inside me, but are trying to seep into my chest from the outside, and only invoke some vague sense of the feeling I'm supposed to be having. This, however, strikes fear directly into my heart. But I swallow the lump in my throat, and toughen up.

“What are you waiting for, then? Go ahead and do the dirty work for the gods, like everyone always does.” I try and snark it up the best I can, but my heart's not in it. Obviously. Because my heart doesn't work anymore, and here I'm talking both literally and in the sappy, stupid, poetic garbage way. It still seems to do the trick in pissing him off, though. Charon doesn't answer, but lets out a snort as he leans over the podium and literally grabs me by the ear, then pulls me towards the elevator with hard, stomping steps. I don't mention that I can't feel the pain of however hard he's pinching. He pushes some other souls out of the way, and I have no choice but to let myself be manhandled into the metal box. The only noise as we lower into the underworld is tacky elevator music. Charon keeps switching between glaring at me and scowling at the doors. When it dings open, I hear him mutter something about not getting paid nearly enough for this as he grabs me under the arm, then hauls me towards his boat. I barely have time to take in my ghastly surroundings before I’m put on a ship with the rest of the souls passing to the underworld.

I thought the journey over Styx would take at least long enough to get my nerves calmed down, but apparently time relative to me has decided that I can go fuck myself, because it feels like I’m being jabbed towards Hades’ throne room by skeleton soldiers in a matter of seconds. I had been hoping that he would at least be normal sized, or maybe in his human disguise, and if i was extremely lucky he would be both. Of course, my luck is garbage, so he’s neither, sitting cross-legged on his giant throne made of bones in all his tormented-faces-robe wearing glory. I briefly wonder how his skeleton soldiers feel knowing he’s sitting on a glorified chair made of them, then quickly come to the conclusion that they probably don’t feel anything, which is why they’re Hades’ soldiers in the first place.

“Luke Castellan.” He addresses me coldly, lips downturned and tight.

“Great uncle.” I reply as casually as I can muster up the courage to. His frown deepens, and he points at a skeleton. It comes up behind me and kicks my inner knee, making me fall on it with a yell.

“Address me properly, boy.”

I remain silent. The skeleton jabs me in the back with it’s spear. Yet again, it doesn’t hurt, but I groan and reevaluate my answer anyways. “My apologies, Lord Hades.” Hades lifts his hand, and the skeleton yanks me up to stand again before lining up with the rest of it’s squad in front of the large door leading to my only escape.

“That’s better.”

“So, to what do I owe the honors?” I ask, though it’s mostly rhetorical. I expect him to give me another disapproving frown, but instead… He sighs. And looks at me with something in his eyes that I can't discern, either sympathy or pity. No matter what, it makes me extremely uncomfortable.

“You know very well why you're here, Castellan.”

“Actually,” I break him off, “while I do realize why I'm down here, I _am_ legitimately confused as to why I didn't get express shipped to the fields of punishment. Did you want to tell me about my eternal damnation yourself, first, get my reaction, and then send me off?”

Hades’ lips tighten again, and his eyebrows furrow. “You're confusing me with my… _Dear_ brother, Zeus. I'm not cruel, contrary to popular belief, and his curses have been much worse than mine. And besides,” he tilts his head slightly, leaning his chin on his hand. “It’s funny you should assume your fate will be a punishment.”

I raise an eyebrow, squinting slightly at him. “I'd assume you gods would want me suffering.”

“You're already dead.” Hades shrugs, then scowls slightly. “They could care less about what goes on in the kingdom of the dead.”

“I'd argue they also don't care about the living-”

“DO NOT start with that, or I can assure you your fate, whatever it is, WILL be a punishment. You may have a point that the olympians treatment of their family is more often than not extremely unfair, but I will not listen to your bickering about it. We would be stuck here for eons.” Hades’ booming voice has a growling undertone to it, and I uncharacteristically shut my big mouth.

Then again.

I furrow my eyebrows slightly in confusion, piecing together a pattern in his words. “Hades-”

Hades clears his throat.

“... _Lord_ Hades, _sir,_ ” I offer. He nods. “You talk as if you don't know what my fate is.”

“And the penny drops!” Hades claps his hands together in mock excitement, sarcasm dripping off of his voice. “To think that you almost overthrew us. No, Luke Castellan, I do not have your afterlife figured out yet. You're quite a special case, after all. And there's also your father and his incessant begging that I not be too hard on you.” Hades mutters the last part with a roll of his eyes. I feel anger flare up in my chest, my second real emotion of the afterlife. Oh, so _now_ he cares. After I've _died._ The gods continue to be worthless.

“So, what? What's gonna happen while you figure out how to dispose of my soul?” I say, deadpan. I know getting pissy with the guy who's about to decide what I'm going to do for the rest of eternity isn't a smart move, but neither is anything I've done lately, and the rage over my dad is making me feel the stupid kind of brave.

“Well,” Hades huffs lightly, seemingly unbothered by my tone. “I would just throw you in a cell down here, but as we've discovered, letting you stay anywhere near Tartarus is a regrettable decision.” I lower my head, eyes darting to the ground. “So, they will just have to deal with you on the other side for a little while longer.”

My attention snaps back upwards, as I stare at his face in disbelief. “...You're sending me _back?_ ”

The corner of Hades’ lips tug up in the very hint of a smile, but he quickly straightens them out again. “I am indeed. But don't get your hopes up, I'm not bringing you back to life. You'll be roaming as a… Not even a ghost, really. Just a lost presence.”

I'm about to ask if those two aren’t literally the exact same thing, but I'm cut off by Hades yelling farewell and snapping his fingers. Then, I'm enveloped in darkness, and my consciousness fades.

 

* * *

 

When my vision returns, I’m met with a vast, dark blue sky, lit up by countless small shimmering stars. It's gorgeous. It's been awhile since I've been able to really just take in the night sky. I don’t know how long I’m there just gaping at the heavens, but eventually, I realize I should be worried that it’s the only thing I can see. Then I have a second realization, and sit up from where I’m lying on the ground. I’m confused for a moment as I look around in the dark, until I recognize my surroundings and an icy feeling starts trying to seep into my bones. It doesn’t work, but I’m still thoroughly rattled.

I know exactly where I am. I’m in the middle of the horseshoe of cabins at Camp Half-Blood, a few feet away from the fire pit. I’m also awfully close to the Poseidon cabin, which makes me get up and stumble backwards. I look down over myself, and realize that, oh, wow, I’m not just back at camp, I’m back in the signature orange t-shirt, khaki cargo shorts and worn-down sneakers as well. I want to cringe, but, to be honest, I’ve missed it. At heart, I’m not a fancy guy, and I was never meant to be. I huff out a nostalgic sigh as I stuff my hands in the roomy pockets, then do a double take and pull them out again, holding them up to my face.

I’m translucent.

Nearly transparent, actually, and also glowing light green? Not an awful lot, just a vague hue around my skin. If I hold my hands really close to my face, I can see my skeleton inside them, so I choose to not do that. Instead, I survey the area again. The cabins all look exactly like I remember, except for minor changes, like new plants on the roof of the Demeter cabin.

I slowly pull my legs into action, walking down along the middle of the horseshoe. Nostalgia rummages around at the edges of my heart, trying to push inwards, but the center is still numb. I stop in between the Dionysus cabin… And my own. I can’t look up at it, at first, to start with just staring down at the ground. I steal a quick glance towards the wooden building, then graduate to staring at it, motionless. I take a hesitant step towards it, stare a little more, then take another, and I don’t know how much time passes before I am, but suddenly I’m reaching out for the door handle. Problem is, my hand swipes right through it. I blink in surprise, stumbling back a step. I reach forward and try again, but the same thing happens, like I’m made of water or something. I try and push the door open, but instead my hand disappears inside the wood. I’m stuck like that in shock for a few seconds, then gather up the courage to try and walk through. It’s like there’s not even a door there, and suddenly I’m just inside the dark Hermes cabin.

I immediately seize up again, the air suddenly full of snoring and peaceful breathing, a few sleepy grunts here and there, creaking beds and the occasional shuffle of a sleeping bag. I want to press myself against the wall, but now I know I would probably just tumble out to the other side. I haven’t felt this atmosphere in so long. I feel like crying, but I don’t even know if that’s possible in my current state. A common theme of the evening seems to be me not knowing how long I’m stuck staring at my surroundings like a dead fish, and this is another one of those cases. Finally, I make myself take a step forwards.

It’s not as cramped as usual. That’s probably my fault. There are around a dozen unclaimed campers on the floor, and the same amount of my siblings taking up the bunk beds. I walk a round through the cabin, seeing how many faces I recognize and how many are new. Most of them I remember, although they look more beat up than usual. That’s probably my fault, too. I get a weird feeling in my gut, and if I had been alive, I'm guessing it would feel something like I had just been stabbed again.

I betrayed them. Every single one of the siblings I vowed to protect. I let myself be played like a goddamn fiddle by a titan that wanted to destroy all of them, everything godly, to get back at his children. Granted, we were in a firm agreement that his children were and are and will always be assholes, but I should've been smart enough to realize that Kronos was one, too. Speaking of.

A thought pops into my head, and I nearly throw myself towards the bathroom to check if it's correct. I stumble to a stop in front of the cracked mirror, and stare at myself in it. It's hard to see in the dark. I lean in, and on the one hand, I can see my skull in the same way I could see my bones inside my hand. So. That's not stellar, doesn't sit super well. On the other hand, even though I can barely make it out, I let out a sigh of relief as I realize my eyes are back to their same old blue.

...Actually, no, wait, they're way paler than their usual blue. They're actually freakishly light, but in the very least, they're not gold. I consider the rest of myself in the mirror, tilting my head to the side slightly. The scar going across my face is still as prominent as ever, and the other ones I've gathered over the years haven't faded a bit either.

I look way different from the last time I saw myself in these clothes, and not just because I'm a ghost. I definitely look my age. Maybe even a little older. The fact that I could pass for someone going into their early 30s at 24 worries me about my former stress levels, though I guess I won't have to deal with that anymore. I'll probably never get to see myself with wrinkles and grey hair, besides the one streak from holding the sky. So, in a way, I was right in my earlier beliefs, back when I was alive. Granted, I _did_ live past 18, and the fact that I kicked the bucket as early as I did is pretty much exclusively my own damn fault, but still. It stings a bit to know I had the right idea about that. I sigh, and am about to walk back through the sleeping cabin to get outside, when I pause. I look over at the sink and the wall and mirror behind it. I hesitantly raise my hand. I bring it down on the surface, and my hand smacks right through. I take a step forward, and the porcelain goes right through my stomach, and while the imagery makes me want to hurl, the shortcut outside is pretty neat.

Next up is the Hephaestus cabin, and I enter it the same way I left my own. I end up walking through an anvil, then turn to get to the room with the bunk beds. I firmly ignore the one that's the most decked out yet at the same time has no one sleeping in it, and walk a similar round to the one in the Hermes cabin, and then move along to Apollo. I keep going like that, until I'm through all of the cabins. Except for two very particular ones, of course. I skip those two. Seeing regular faces I used to know hurts enough on it's own, I don't need to see theirs again, I decide as I walk out through the wall next to the door of the Dionysus cabin. I don't need to see ‘em. Don't want to look at them.

I look up at the sky to try and discern how much time has passed, and I conclude about one hour, so there's still a good bit left of the night before people would start waking up. The Apollo cabin would probably be the early birds, there, most of them used to get up with their dad when I lived here. Then it was Athena, usually. I cast a quick glance towards the cabin, then look away just as fast. Don't wanna see her again. Back to the waking order. It was normally Hephaestus after them. And then everyone else. And then there was the Hermes cabin; We were spread out through the whole routine, since we were an amalgamation of a bunch of different godly offspring. I and my siblings were pretty average. I stuff my hands in my pockets as I look down at the grass, kicking at the ground half-heartedly.

Alright, no, my impulses were not going to let me get away with this. I set off running towards the Athena cabin, then slow down as I hop up the steps. I stop a few inches away from the door, and take a deep breath. Then, I walk through.

She’s missing.

The person I’m dreading the most. I double, triple check every bunk, but she’s not there. Now _THAT’S_ worrying.

I-... I didn’t see any ridiculously long haired blondes back in Hades, did I? As soon as the thought crosses my mind, immense panic strikes directly into my heart. No. No, Annabeth HAS to be alive. She was there, on my fucking deathbed, for gods’ sake, she couldn’t have died after that. I stumble backwards, out of the cabin, overwhelmingly full of emotion for someone who hasn’t felt nearly anything for… I want to say as long as i’ve been dead, but really, almost nothing has touched me as deeply as this for months. It's only a step under dying. I can barely stay upright as my head pounds, and I close my eyes as I cover my face with my hands, trying to tame my dizziness. After I feel I've mildly contained it, I part the fingers over my eyes and let my palms drag down my face slowly as I look towards the only cabin left. Poseidon.

Suddenly, I notice something. The curtains are drawn, but light is shining through from inside the sea-inspired structure.

He's still awake.

I swallow a tough lump in my throat, then start walking across the grass to get to it, shoulders hunched and steps uneven. My hands shake as I walk up the few stairs to the porch, but there's no pause in front of the door like I did in front of Athena’s cabin. I get met with an at first pleasant surprise, the fear and dread from just a few seconds ago quickly subsiding. Then, almost as soon as it’s gone, it’s replaced by bewildered pain.

Good news is, I found Annabeth.

Bad news is, her and Percy are both crying.

Percy is shaking on the floor, in a pose that makes it seem like he was trying to make it to his bed but collapsed halfway through the room. He also looks _exhausted,_ and not just from the giant ass war he just won, but the kind of exhausted you get from crying for hours. His head has been pulled into Annabeth’s lap, his eyes are shut tightly and his teeth clench as he shivers and jerks involuntarily, his arms wrapped around himself protectively, nails digging into his overarms. His breathing is panicked and fast, his chest expanding and shrinking unevenly as he hyperventilates. Annabeth’s crying is a lot less intense than Percy, silent tears wetting her cheeks as she pets his hair softly, mutters some comforting words to him about how it’s okay, that everything is over, that he doesn’t need to be scared anymore, that he's safe. It doesn’t look like any of it is sinking in. Neither of them notice my ghostly presence in the room.

The same twinge of guilt from earlier runs through my body, a little more intense this time. I didn’t even consider how traumatized this would leave everyone, particularly these two. Sure, being part of the war was stressful, but surviving it? This seemed like a whole new level of pain I really wasn’t prepared to witness. I felt awkward, just standing there in front of them, and like I’d intruded on a private, intimate moment, which I of course had. I just didn’t expect it to look like this. I should leave. But then again, they seem to be the only people who are awake, and I’m kind of worried about Percy, and being dead apparently makes you very impertinent about personal space. So instead, I hesitantly take a step closer, still kind of scared either of them might realize I’m there, but they don’t. Annabeth just keeps on holding Percy, keeps trying to guide him through his panic attack. I sit down on the floor across from them, cross-legged and tense. Percy’s face is even more strained than usual. I stopped seeing him like a kid a year or so ago, but… He clearly still is one. Right now, he looks _much_ more like the scared 12 year old he was when we first met than the 16 year old son of Poseidon who successfully bathed in the river Styx and brought Kronos to his second downfall.

…

Wow. I’m a trash adult. I shift my gaze to Annabeth’s pained face, and the point still stands. I’m a horrible man who ruined these children’s lives. Which is exactly what I was trying to prevent, demigods having their lives ruined by godly interference, even if mine was only half-godly. Funny how that works, which is to say, it isn’t funny at all, it’s actually kind of fucking horrible. I feel something trickle down my cheek, and reach up with a hand to wipe it away and realize I’m crying too, now. So ghosts _can_ cry. Don't know how that works, but honestly, I'm a little relieved.

I look back down at Percy, who looks at least a bit less distressed. Not a lot, mind you, just a little bit. Annabeth’s words seem to finally be getting through to him, and now he’s staring wide-eyed at her face like it's the most important thing in the world as she talks him through some breathing exercises. He’s not doing very well, but he’s trying.

I wonder if the gods rewarded them. They better have.

An hour or so later, maybe more, Percy is finally breathing steadily. He's closed his eyes again, but it's peaceful this time. He occasionally takes in a sharp breath of air out of pace, but mostly, he's relaxed. Annabeth is quiet now, but hasn't stopped petting his hair. Besides their breathing, the room is completely silent.

“I'm sorry,” Percy croaks out after a little while. “I know you just came in to say goodnight, I didn't mean to spring all my mental stuff on you like this.”

Annabeth shakes her head. “Don't apologize, Percy. I don't… I don't want you to be going through this alone. I don't think either of us should be trying to soldier through it by ourselves, honestly.”

Percy opens his eyes and looks up at her. She looks back, sea green connecting with bright grey. He reaches up a hand, squeezes her shoulder gently. “...You're right. We shouldn't. We need to be a team, like always. Thanks.”

She smiles, and lays her free hand over his. “No problem, seaweed brain. _Someone_ has to take care of you, since you're so bad at doing it yourself.”

Percy laughs, then uses his grip on her shoulder to pull himself up to sit. Then, he turns, and pulls her into a tight hug. She tenses up completely at first, but after a few seconds pause, wraps her arms back around him. They just sit like that, quietly comforting each other, and it feels like time is standing still for a brief moment. That they really are safe, here, in each others arms.

Then Percy pulls away again.

“You should get back to your cabin. I don't think Chiron would be too pleased if you spent the night here. And, you know, um,” he looks away, clearing his throat. “Folks might, uh. Talk.”

Annabeth raises an eyebrow at him. “Talk about what?” She asks, but she has a teasing smirk on her face that says she knows exactly what he means.

Percy nudges her shoulder with his fist. “Shut up, wise girl.”

Annabeth laughs, then gets up and pulls Percy up with her. He stumbles a bit and- oh holy _shit_ his leg just went through my chest. I'm glad they can't hear the shriek I let out as I scoot backwards in surprise, then quickly scramble to get up.

I don't know what the weirdest part is. That his leg just phased through my body, or that I didn't feel it _at all (_ besides the emotional shock, obviously).

We both watch after Annabeth as she leaves. As she closes the door, my eyes go back to Percy. A few moments after it's been shut, his smile fades, and he let's out a heavy sigh as he rubs at his eyes. Then he stretches, rummages a hand through his hair and heads towards the bathroom to get ready for bed. I debate whether or not to, but eventually follow after him. What else am I gonna do?

I glance at myself in the mirror next to him while he rinses off his toothbrush, reassuringly catching my own eyes and confirming that they're still not gold. Just a freakishly pale blue.

When Percy looks up at our reflection again, he freezes completely for a second, and stares at where my pale, scarred face is in the mirror, a completely dumbfounded look on his face. After the second passes, he looks even more confused, blinking wildly and looking around in panic. My first instinct is to dive behind the shower curtain and hide, because I'm pretty sure if he saw me right now, he would attempt to somehow double murder me, but it doesn't seem like he can see me anymore, which confuses the both of us. Maybe Hades forgot about blocking my access to mirror communication for a moment, but it's definitely not an option now, because Percy has gone back to staring at where he must have seen me in the mirror, even after I've moved. He's completely unanimated for a few moments, just standing there, clutching his toothbrush in his hand like it's a weapon. Then he untenses, and looks down at it with a bitter sigh, before chucking it back in its container and leaving, shutting off the light behind him. He walks back to his bed, flops onto it heavily, then crawls under the covers still fully dressed.

...Now.

Look.

If I had literally anything else to do, I wouldn't sit next to Percy Jackson's bed through the rest of the night and stare at him while he snoozes. I would actually rather do literally anything else than watch someone sleep. The fact of the matter is, though, that I _don't_ have anything else to do, because I'm _dead,_ and if I try to touch anything I'll swipe right through it, and I highly doubt I’d be able to go to sleep myself. So, here I am. Staring at my former mortal enemy while he slowly drifts off to have uncomfortable demigod dreams, as we do. Hey, at least I wouldn't have to live with that anymore, right? Haha, live. I hate myself.

Some point during the night he starts thrashing in his sheets, and half an hour later he wakes up with a gasp, panting and sweating. I dread he's about to have another panic attack, but luckily, he doesn't. He just falls back in his bed and lets out an unhappy whimper, rubbing his hands over his face again. He looks over at the alarm clock next to his bed that reads 5:34, and groans something about there being no point before wrestling off his tangled sheets and getting out of bed.

I politely divert my eyes as he changes out of his sweat-drenched clothes, or rather, bodyslam myself to the ground as soon as I realise he’s taking off his shirt and roll under his bed so I'm 100% sure I don't catch an accidental glimpse of _ANYTHING_ , thankyouverymuch. I don't realize I'm lying through a six-pack of cola until he suddenly reaches under the bed and grabs one. When I'm done having another minor freakout over Percy sticking yet another limb through me, I get out from under the bed and follow him outside.

The sky is already starting to fade to a deep purple, warning a sunrise in the near future. I can't feel anything, but I see a light breeze ruffle up Percy’s hair as I walk behind him. I can already guess where he's headed, and he proves my theory correct as he turns to head towards the beach. He glances at the outskirts of the forest as we pass it, and I see his grip on the can of coke tighten a bit. I have an idea of what that might be about. The first of many times I tried to kill Percy. Another stab of guilt chases through me, so intense I actually clutch at my chest this time and have to stop for a moment.

When he arrives at the shore, he slows to a stop. He leans his head back with a sigh as another light wind fluffs up his messy black locks, then kicks off his Reeboks and dumps down on the dry part of the beach, but close enough to the water to dig his heels into the wet sand. He drills his cola into the beach, and then leans forward, crossing his arms and resting his elbows on his knees. I sit down next to him. Then there's silence, for a while, as he looks out over the sea, and I count how many scars are visible on him. He's already getting close to my own tally, and that's with an unscathed shirt on. Some feeling tries to seep into my chest, but it's not intense and sudden, so it doesn't have much success. My gaze diverts to the calm, dark waves licking the beach as I try to figure out what it is. That's not a new experience for me, though; For the last couple of years I haven't been able to figure out what the hell I'm feeling. More often than not, it's just been numbness or anger, but when it wasn't either of those, I was formally screwed, and this is one of those rare cases. This is a distinct, painful… Something. Maybe melancholy?

I'm pulled out of my thoughts with a yelp when the loud noise of a can being opened suddenly pierces the air, and once again I'm glad Percy can't hear me.

...Or. Am I? Sure, I don't want him to know how easily I scare now, but. I look over at him, as he takes a long sip, then leans back on his free arm with a sigh. No. I'm not happy Percy can't hear me. I'd like to talk to him. I don't know what I want to say to him, but I feel like it's something we need to do. I wonder if he feels the same. If he wishes we could have one normal conversation, where I wasn't sharing a body with Kronos, and/or trying to have him murdered a hundred ways til sunday. My eyes run up to his hair, and the grey streak starting from his temple. Even in the dark, it’s incredibly prominent. I swear I’ve seen it fainter than that, when we’ve crossed paths in dreams. Maybe it’s because he’s as stressed out as he is. Gods, I’ve made Percy Jackson start greying at the age of 16. Granted, the original reason for the tint wasn’t stress, but it was still _my fault_ he ended up holding the sky. I look back over the sea. He finishes his can.

Suddenly, he gets up, sands off, and starts wading into the waters. I’m confused as to why he’s doing this fully clothed for a moment, but then remember just who the hell he is and roll my eyes at my own idiocy. For once, I’m hesitant about following him, only standing up when he’s knee-deep.

I don’t really know how my undead body is going to react to the water, and I’m even more apprehensive about how the water might react to me. Would Poseidon be able to sense me? Especially this close to his own son.

Percy’s down to his hips. I take the risk.

Luckily, my form doesn’t dissolve in the water, and I’m not immediately chucked out of it, either. I quickly catch up to him, and not long after both our heads are fully submerged. He keeps going until he reaches the flat bottom, then stops and closes his eyes. He pulls his hands out of the pockets of his hoodie, and tilts his head upwards, letting out a deep breath in a flurry of bubbles. Watching him in his element is fascinating. He slowly opens his eyes again, half-lidded and tired. He stares upwards blankly, mouth slightly agape and gaze unfocused. I wonder if he just went down here to be depressed, but like, cinematically. I sure hope not, because as someone who used to climb on top of caves to stargaze and do exactly that: not very productive recovery. I cross my arms and shift uncomfortably while he just stands there, looking upwards. Then, he sighs, and rubs his hands over his face.

“Guess it won't work today either.” He mutters to himself, and shoves his hands back in his pockets, digging at the sandy ground with his foot. A crab scuttles across the bottom.

Through my foot.

Being a ghost is fucking weird.

I look back up at him as I shuffle away from the crab, and the same unidentified emotion from earlier comes back, welling up inside my heart.

It's stronger, this time, slowly seeping into the very core of my being, absorbing my entire essence until it feels a thousand times more powerful than any regular emotion.

It's regret.

It's waves upon waves of regret, remorse, repent, and every other synonym for it. It feels hot and cold at the same time, and makes my heart swell and hurt and my throat choke up. I'm crying again.

I hesitantly raise a hand. I wonder if the no human touch rule goes both ways. Of course, it does, my hand swiping right through Percy’s arm. I try again, attempting to wrap an arm around his shoulder. I even go as far as to try a desperate hug, but nothing works. I let out a sob, taking a step back and immediately losing control of my legs, knees giving out under me as I fall on them.

“I'm sorry, Percy,” I mutter through clenched teeth, looking up at his frowning face. He doesn't react in the slightest, which I expected, but it still hurts and frustrates me. “I'm so sorry.”


End file.
